you're the one that moves me like nobody else
by Tarafina
Summary: Steve just wanted his best friend back. But now that he's found him, there's a complication. Bucky agrees to come home under one condition; his wife comes too. In theory, that's easy; in reality, not so much. Darcy Barnes? Currently a brainwashed killing machine bent on returning her husband to HYDRA's clutches.
1. A Wrinkle in the Plan

**title**: every time I'm slipping away from myself (you're the one that moves me like nobody else)  
**category**: mcu; thor/captain america/avengers  
**genre**: romance/drama/humor  
**ship**: darcy/bucky  
**chapter rating**: pg-13  
**overall rating**: nc-17/explicit  
**word count**: 3,487  
**summary**: Steve just wanted his best friend back. But now that he's found him, there's a complication. Bucky agrees to come home under one condition; his wife comes too. In theory, that's easy; in reality, not so much. Darcy Barnes? Currently a brainwashed killing machine bent on returning her husband to HYDRA's clutches.

**_every time I'm slipping away from myself (you're the one that moves me like nobody else)_**  
-novel-

**I.**

When Steve finally tracked him down, it was eight months of intense searching. It was a constant race to the next site he might've, _possibly_, been seen. Street cameras and satellite footage would put him in some foreign city, the information passed on from Tony or Natasha, so he and Sam would pack up and chase down the lead, only to come up empty-handed. There were a few times that he could almost taste victory; that he swore the dust was still settling from Bucky having left just minutes before they arrived. But it didn't matter how quickly they got the information or how swiftly they reacted to it, they always showed up too late.

He refused to lose hope. Even when Sam tried to be realistic with him, warning him that he had no idea who he would find if he did manage to catch up to Bucky, and that if Bucky was keeping ahead of him, maybe he wasn't ready to be found. Steve couldn't accept that. Bucky might be struggling to understand himself, but that was all the more reason for Steve to find him. The more Bucky remembered, the more confused he probably was. Even when he had nothing, he had Bucky; now he could return the favor.

The day he finally found him, he almost didn't believe his eyes. They'd tracked him down to a dingy motel room in a small town in Portugal. He and Sam snuck up on either side of the door, prepared for Bucky to run, to fight them off and try to escape. Even more prepared to open the door to the motel and find it empty, just like every one before it.

Steve dug out the key he'd gotten off the guy at the front desk and turned the lock on the door, as slowly and as quietly as he could. He swung it open, tense and prepared for disappointment. Instead of an empty room, however, he found a hunched figure at a table, his head bowed over papers and pictures, folders spread out all over, a bottle of vodka not far from reach. A ceiling fan did a pathetic job of cooling the room down, leaving it over warm, the air stagnant. Bucky seemed to have passed out where he sat, dressed in a white tank top and a ratty pair of jeans, his boots still on, as if he was prepared to flee at any given moment.

Steve frowned, glancing back at Sam, who shrugged at him, following him inside quietly and closing the door behind them.

As soon as the closing click of the door was heard, Bucky snapped awake, his eyes opening abruptly as he leapt from his chair, grabbing a gun from beside him and aiming it at them, his expression wild and fierce.

Steve's breath caught in his throat for a moment. He could remember, vividly, seeing him for the first time in Washington. Realizing that this was Bucky, his best friend, trying to kill him. He'd watched the footage of their fight, over and over, watched as the muzzle fell away and a face he knew as well as his own stared back at him. But even knowing that, some part of him still tried to convince him that it was in his head, that he shouldn't get his hopes up, that no, it couldn't possibly have been Bucky. This whole goose chase was pointless, because his best friend was long dead. But there he was, staring him in the eye again. He was exhausted, his cheeks sunken and dark bags under his eyes, his beard had grown out and he didn't look like he'd eaten or slept in too long, but it was him. Even if his eyes were wary and his body was poised with paranoid uncertainty.

He didn't shoot. That was a good sign, wasn't it? Or maybe Steve was just trying desperately to believe that this was still Bucky, underneath all of the HYDRA programming. He'd saved his life, hadn't he? Dragged him out of the drink and left him alive for the right people to find. He didn't have to do that, but he had. So some part of him had to remember. Had to know who he was, that he wasn't the enemy.

"Bucky—"

His mouth twisted up and his bionic hand flexed on the handle of the gun. "You shouldn't be here."

Steve shook his head, his hands held up in an effort to look less threatening. "We've been looking for you…" He stared at him searchingly. "We only want to help… I know things are probably… _confusing_. You must have a lot of questions. I can help you with that. I can answer some of them. Tell you what I know."

He gritted his teeth. "I remember… a lot of it. It comes in flashes sometimes. People, faces, things I did, people I killed…"

"You weren't in control. That wasn't you."

Bucky's lip curled. "I wasn't innocent before they got their hands on me. I killed before that, too. It was just wrapped up in stars and stripes. They sell the dream the same way. You'll save the world, change it, shape it for the better. So you do it, because you wanna believe you're a good person, but sometimes… you're just a trigger man, just an asset. Nothing more."

"That's not who you are. You're more than that," Steve insisted. "Please. Bucky, who you were, before this… I remember him. I remember everything about him, everything he said, and he's still you. That person is still in you."

"You don't know that." But his arm lowered, the gun held limply at his side. "You don't know the things I've done."

"I want to." Steve stared at him earnestly. "It's not going to change anything. You'll still be you."

He shook his head, licking his lips as they trembled. "Anybody ever tell you you're reckless?" He let out a scoffing, humorless laugh. "You don't invite the killer closer, Rogers. You put him down. That's smart."

"Yeah, well, I'm stupid for the right reasons."

Bucky stared at him a long moment. "So, what? You think you can just… re-jog all of this. Put me in a shrink's chair, get this mess figured out?"

"I don't know. Maybe. If you wanna see somebody, talk to somebody about it, fine, we can do that. If you want to do something else, we'll do that. But I want you to come home… I want to help you, whatever that takes." He sighed, shoulders slumping. "Just… come home, Bucky."

Bucky didn't answer, didn't agree. He turned his gaze away for a moment, staring at Sam, standing off to the side, letting them talk it out. He observed him for a few long seconds and then shifted his feet, nodded his chin toward Sam and asked, "You've been chasing him around this whole time?"

"Chasing him, getting dragged by him, depends on the day," Sam answered.

Faintly, Bucky's lips turned up. "You get used to it."

Steve smiled, relieved, nostalgic.

Bucky turned back to him, his expression a little less stressed. "I'll come back." Before Steve could get too excited, he added, "But there's a catch."

Steve nodded. "Anything."

"You're not a good poker player, are you?" Sam piped up behind him.

Steve rolled his eyes, choosing not to answer him as he raised an eyebrow at Bucky imploringly.

"I need your help finding someone… I've been hitting HYDRA safe houses, but every time I get there, they're cleaned out."

"That's how we found you," Sam said, stepping forward. "We finally caught on. SHIELD, or, well, what's left of it, they rounded up a few leftover HYDRA agents; they've been gathering intel on what they could. One of the Avengers noticed the pattern. Something about being too close to the picture to see it properly."

"Barton noticed you'd been in three different cities where known HYDRA cells were… At first he thought you were trying to go back to them, but it didn't make sense. You were an asset; they would've picked you up themselves if they knew you were close."

Bucky nodded shortly. "They have someone. I need them back."

"Who?" Sam wondered.

Before Bucky could answer, there was a noise outside, drawing their attention.

Bucky went still, his head cocked, and his eyes narrowed. "Did you tell anyone you were here?" he asked, his voice cold.

Steve frowned. "Only my team. Mandatory check-ins before we follow a lead. But they wouldn't—"

Bucky turned, walking quickly to his bed and pulling out a go-bag from beneath. He grabbed out two handguns from inside and three magazines that he slid into the pockets of his jeans. "We need to go. Now. If they've followed you—"

Sam was at the window, carefully moving the curtains aside. "We've got two SUVs, at least six guys, armed."

Steve ground his teeth together. "Is there a window in the back?"

"In the bathroom." Bucky eyed him. "But it's small. _Too _small."

"Guess we're going out the front." Sam pulled his own gun and flipped the safety off. "If we go now, we might be able to catch them off guard."

"You got any extra guns in there?" Steve wondered, nodding his chin down to the go-bag curiously.

Bucky looked over at him a moment, his brow knotted, and then he tossed Steve not one, but two handguns, tucking the third into his own belt before he reached inside and came up with an assault rifle.

"There could be civilians out there," Steve reminded, lips pursed.

"My aim's just fine." He walked toward the door then, armed and ready, and Steve watched as the Winter Soldier persona seemed to ripple into place. Cold, controlled, and ready for war, the man before him hardly resembled the Bucky he knew like the back of his hand. This man was blood and broken bone, metal and ice. It was hard to imagine he ever laughed or smiled or teased like he had just minutes before. And it was a startling reality; Bucky wasn't gone, but the Winter Soldier wasn't either. They were two sides of the same coin.

As the door was yanked open, Bucky stepped outside and started firing. He didn't hesitate, simply stepping forward to meet whatever came for him. Steve and Sam followed him out, flanking him, guns raised. Bucky's gun did the most damage, taking out two men before they had a chance to react to his abrupt appearance. The remaining four were smart enough to take cover.

"We need to move to the car," Sam said, tracking a pair of moving feet under an SUV but unable to get a good shot.

Steve nodded at him agreeably and they moved to the right, with a pat to Bucky's shoulder to tell him to follow.

Bucky nodded in acknowledgement, but lingered to shoot out the tires on one SUV while still tracking his gun across the space, waiting for anyone to show their faces. He backed up as he followed them and Steve watched his back, hesitant to take his eyes off of him.

Two of their attackers gathered their courage and stood, firing on them while still keeping mostly covered by the back end of a beat up Ford Contour. While Bucky focused his gun spray on them, a third stood and took aim. Steve fired before he could, catching him in the shoulder. He stumbled back and slumped down, out of sight.

The squealing tires of a car could be heard before Sam pulled up close to them. "Let's go. Come on."

Grabbing Bucky by the shoulder, Steve yanked him back and shoved him into the back seat of the car before climbing into the front passenger seat. Sam's foot pressed down on the accelerator and they jolted forward, peeling out of the motel parking lot and pulling onto the road. Still tense, Steve kept his eyes on the mirror, waiting to see the remaining SUV follow behind them. But the motel only grew smaller in the distance and nobody seemed to be following.

"Did you shoot the tires out on the other SUV?" Steve wondered, turning his head back to eye Bucky.

He shook his head, scowling out the window. "Just the one."

"And the two guys behind the car? You get either of 'em?" Sam asked, glancing at him through the mirror.

"Might've winged one, but he won't stay down for long. They have orders. They'll keep coming, whatever it takes." He leaned back in his seat, his gun over his lap. "You shouldn't have come. I was going to raid the warehouse tomorrow."

"So let's say you did. Let's say you went there, got inside, and they didn't empty it out…" Steve stared at him searchingly. "What then? You kill all of them? Is that what this is about? Revenge?"

Bucky raised his eyes to meet his, his expression somewhere between curious and derisive. "What if I did? What if I killed every one of them? Slit their throats, put a bullet between their eyes. You don't think they deserve it?"

"HYDRA stands for everything I hate. The things they've done, the things they _want _to do… I would hand you the match to burn them to the ground. But we need to be smart about this. This isn't a one-man mission. You said you wanted help finding someone. I'll help you find them. I'll help you take HYDRA down, one head at a time, but we need a plan." He frowned, looking him over. "You don't look like you've slept or eaten in days."

Bucky dropped his gaze then. "Weeks," he muttered. "I pass out sometimes. It's enough."

Steve swallowed as concern and regret burned his throat, his chest tightening. "You gotta take care of yourself first, Buck. Taking on HYDRA, it's going to happen, but you need to be at your best before you go head to head with them… And you deserve a break. A real one. Some time to… adjust."

"I don't need to take them all on. Not yet." He shook his head, wincing painfully as he turned his eyes away. "I just need one person. That's it."

"Uh, guys…" Sam said.

"Who?" Steve shook his head. "Who are you trying to find?"

"_Steve_."

Steve turned his head, irritated, only to realize Sam was staring ahead, his brows furrowed.

"Any ideas why that truck's coming at us backwards? Because my money's on 'incoming enemy.'"

Steve frowned, turning forward in his seat and stared at the truck coming center down the road. Before he could offer an idea, the truck came to a stop. It was far enough ahead there was plenty of space between them, which only caused more confusion.

Sam slowed down to a stop, reaching for the gear shift, but just as he did, he looked up, a heavy sigh leaving him. "Look who finally caught up."

Steve looked back to see the remaining SUV approach from behind; his eyes darted between the two trucks and then to his left at an open field. "We either try to drive past them, get out and fight, or make a run for it," he said.

The back door opened abruptly and Bucky climbed out, gun in hand.

"Guess that answers that," Sam muttered before shoving his own car door open. "This was a rental, remember? Under _my _name."

Steve rolled his eyes at him.

Sam shoved out of the car, looking back at the SUV that had also stopped an oddly far distance back. He frowned, turning to Steve. "That suspicious to you, too?"

Steve's lips thinned out. "Yeah, it is."

A man in combat gear suddenly appeared outside of the long one-ton truck ahead, unarmed. He didn't pause before moving to the back and gripping a large, steel handle, pulling it to one side until it unlocked, releasing the catch on the door. He gripped it by the bottom and gave it an upward shove before walking to side and reaching for a chain, manually drawing the door up and out of the way. Steve squinted, but all he could see was empty, dark space inside. And then a boot appeared and a figure stepped out, dressed much like Bucky had in Washington; black fitted cargo pants and leather, padded vest in place, straps, pockets and a belt holding various weapons. But there was no muzzle on this one, no familiar face staring back at him either.

She was young. Mid-twenties, he estimated. Dark hair tied back in a French braid, a few loose curls draped down her face. She stepped off the back of the truck and landed with her feet braced. Her eyes took them in, quick and calculating, assessing them and their strengths and weaknesses in what appeared to be little more than a glance.

The man who released her took one step forward, but even from where he was standing Steve could see the man's hands shaking.

"Go. Attack," the man ordered, trying, and failing to sound commanding.

Her eyes darted to the man, pinning him with a frigid stare. A long, tense moment passed. When she released her gaze from him, he seemed to breathe with relief. Reaching behind her, she slowly drew a silver axe from her back, swinging it around in her grip with expert ease.

"Is that an axe?" Sam asked, his voice full of disbelief. "She's got an _axe_!?"

"What's that old saying?" Steve said. "Never bring an axe to a gun fight…"

"It's never bring a _knife _to a gunfight. That's a lot bigger than a knife!"

Steve didn't reply; instead, he watched her fingers for a moment, the grip of her axe dancing over them as it twisted and turned in a graceful sweep. His shoulders tensed, waiting for her to attack. But she pivoted to the left, hand gripping the handle tightly, and the axe sliced through the air in an arc, sinking into the chest of the man who'd released her. With a shocked, wet gasp, he choked, leaning forward, staring down at his chest. She didn't even look at him, pulling her axe free of him with a jerk.

"What are the odds that was her defecting to our side?" Sam wondered hopefully.

Twisting the axe around in her hands, she raised it up and leaned it against her shoulder, blood dripping down her back. Cocking her head, she stared at them, eyes narrowed.

"Small," Steve answered him, raising his gun and aiming for her, frowning when she didn't so much as flinch. In fact, she took a step forward, a dark smile turning up her lips, ready to step headfirst into enemy fire.

He ground his teeth and flipped the safety off, but before his finger could squeeze the trigger, a hand landed on top of his gun, lowering it abruptly.

"_Don't_," Bucky ordered, facing forward, his skin even paler than before, his eyes wide. "I didn't think they'd bring her…" His chest heaved as he stared, his brow furrowed, mouth set grimly as his eyes darted over her searchingly. "They must've triggered her. She doesn't know what she's doing. She's not like this. Not usually." He swallowed tightly, his face falling.

"Are we going to do something about this?" Sam asked, sounding more than a little anxious.

Steve looked forward. She was walking forward now, her axe lowered to the ground, dragging on the cement, sending up sparks.

"How good is she?" Steve asked, turning to Bucky.

He turned to face him, pausing, hesitant, and then his jaw ticked as he looked forward once more. "I trained her myself." He took a deep breath, lifting his chin. "She won't show you any mercy."

Sam raised his own gun. "I'm not getting axed. I don't care _who_ she is."

Bucky's face transformed immediately, turning savagely protective. It was an expression Steve remembered from their childhood, only then it was Bucky standing up for him.

When Bucky raised his gun, it was pointed at Sam. "Put it down, or I'll kill you," he snarled.

Sam glanced at him, then to Steve, and back to the woman, his gun still raised and his expression set and stubborn.

Steve stared at Bucky's profile, his mind running in overdrive. "She was who you were looking for," he said, his face falling as understanding flooded through him. "You were raiding those safe houses to find her."

Bucky didn't look at him, but he did nod, brief as it was.

Steve turned, looking at the woman. Her features were more discernible now; blue eyes, full lips, beautiful, if it wasn't for the cold, fierce expression she wore. And lethal. Terrifyingly lethal.

"Who is she?" he asked. He stared into her icy eyes and saw nothing but death.

"Darcy." Bucky gritted his teeth, his voice thick as he said, "My _wife_."

* * *

**author's note:** _for anybody reading my prompt fills on Tumblr or on AO3, this was originally just supposed to be a one-off, but I liked it and I had a general idea of what I wanted to do with it in a fleshed out full story. I got a lot of encouragement to continue it, so now it's going to be a longer story. I already have the next two chapters finished and the whole of it planned out. so I hope you liked it so far and are looking forward to reading more. :)_

_Thanks so much reading! Please leave a review; they're my lifeblood!_

- **Lee | Fina**


	2. The Intern and the Astrophysicist

**title**: every time I'm slipping away from myself (you're the one that moves me like nobody else)  
**category**: mcu; thor/captain america/avengers  
**genre**: romance/drama/humor  
**ship**: darcy/bucky  
**chapter rating**: pg-13  
**overall rating**: nc-17/explicit  
**word count**: 4,805  
**summary**: Steve just wanted his best friend back. But now that he's found him, there's a complication. Bucky agrees to come home under one condition; his wife comes too.

**_every time I'm slipping away from myself (you're the one that moves me like nobody else)_**  
-novel-

**II**.

"Who is she?" Steve asked.

Bucky refused to tear his attention from Wilson, who still declined to lower his weapon. "Darcy," he answered. Gritting his teeth, his voice thick with more emotion than he was comfortable sharing, he added, "My _wife_."

There was a beat of surprise, he could feel it in the shocked swivel of Steve's face toward him, mimicked by Wilson, his brows raised and his eyes wide as he stared at Bucky.

Swallowing tightly, Bucky looked from Sam's face to his gun, which, very slowly, lowered. Bucky lingered a second more before lowering his own and turning his attention to Darcy. She was still walking toward them, hips swaying, looking dark and brutal, the sparks coming up from her axe making it all the more intense. But his gaze centered on her face. She was beautiful, she always was, but seeing her like this… seeing her humanity stripped from her and the cold, dead look in her eyes… His heart clenched in his chest.

"We need to go," Steve said, backing up a step.

"What?" Sam asked, walking closer to them. "And how do you propose we do that? We're penned in. We gonna run across the field and hope they don't mow us down?"

"We drive past the truck. Nobody's getting out… They're afraid of her."

"They _should _be. She just killed one of her own."

Bucky's lip curled. "They're not her team; she owes them no loyalty. He should have known better; she kills anything that's weak." Hand flexing on his gun, he muttered, "She's not supposed to be in the field alone. _I'm _her partner."

Steve whirled toward him. "Can you snap her out of this?"

He shook his head. "Not without the trigger word. They would've changed it to something I don't know."

"We're running out of time here," Sam told them urgently.

"We need to leave. Take our chances driving past her." Steve holstered his gun and looked to Bucky. "We have to leave her."

Bucky's expression twisted, his mouth stretched into a line. "I _can't_." He shook his head, his eyes burning as he stared at her. She was so close… She wouldn't hurt him if he went to her. She would have orders to bring him in. He swallowed tightly, his eyes washing over her face. Was she wearing the perfume he got her in Prague? It always smelled so sweet on the crook of her neck. God, he missed her. Eight months and all he could do was miss her.

A hand gripped his shoulder tightly. "If you go with her, I don't know when we'll get you out… _If _we can get you out. But if you come with us, I promise you, we'll get her back…" Steve stared down at him, frantically searching his face. "She can be free, Bucky. You both can."

Bucky stared up at him, swallowed tightly, and jerked his head in a nod.

Steve hauled him backwards and shoved him into the backseat of the car. Sam hurriedly circled around to the driver's seat.

Steve stared at her a moment, coming to a stop in the road, her head tipped and her smile gone.

_She kills anything that's weak_.

Running away would look cowardly to her.

Steve climbed in the car and slammed the door. "Go."

Sam turned the ignition, but before he could press his foot down on the ignition—"Shit!"

The front window splintered and crunched as Darcy threw her axe forward, the blade cutting through the glass.

Sam stared at it a moment, before reaching for the stick and putting it into drive. He turned the wheel and jerked the car forward, but a pair of booted feet landed on the hood of the car and the axe was suddenly pulled free.

Steve and Sam both leaned forward, peering through the spider-web of glass to see Darcy rear the axe back up and over her head. When she brought it down, it came through the roof of the car.

"This was a _rental_," Sam complained under his breath before shoving his foot down on the accelerator. They flew forward and started down the road, but Darcy was still atop the car, one foot braced against the glass as she pulled her axe free and brought it down again.

When she pulled it up a third time, Sam hit the brakes. The abrupt stop forced her to slide off the hood, falling backwards, but instead of landing hard on the asphalt, she flipped mid-air and landed in a crouch, head up and a manic grin crossing her mouth.

"You really know how to pick 'em," Sam said, glancing at Bucky through the rear-view mirror before he turned the car and quickly tried to drive around her. Darcy twisted at the waist, swinging her axe around in an arch, and slammed into the side of the car. As it kept moving, the blade sliced through the steel doors like a hot knife through butter.

Steve pressed himself as far away from the door as he could, staring down at the axe and the hole it left with wide eyes.

The car kept going, accelerator pressed down as far as it would go. Sam muttered obscenities under his breath, checking over his shoulder every few seconds.

Darcy was getting smaller and smaller in the distance, standing in the middle of the road, axe over her shoulder. But then an SUV pulled forward and paused beside her. She hopped onto the side, standing on the foot ramp, a hand gripped around the rack atop the roof.

"She doesn't give up, does she?"

"She's trained not to," Bucky answered, turning in his seat to watch her. "She'll keep coming until they call her off. And they won't; they can't afford to." He looked back at Steve and asked, "So, what's your plan?"

Pulling his phone from the inside pocket of his jacket, he said, "Now we call in back-up."

"Tasha?" Sam asked, looking over at him.

Steve nodded grimly.

Bucky shifted forward in his seat, his face grim. "If any of them _hurt _her—"

"They won't." At Bucky's unconvinced expression, Steve sighed. "I promise you. They won't hurt her. They'll just extract us."

"Better make it soon, because she's gaining on us, and I don't think she's going to care that we're entering a very busy street," Sam said, squeezing his hands around the steering wheel.

Steve didn't answer him, instead focusing on his phone. "Hey. I need your help…"

Bucky half-listened to the conversation, turned around in his seat to peer out the back window. The wind was whipping through her hair, making her braid dance at her back, a few loose tendrils of hair slipping over her cheeks. His hand clenched around the back of his seat, his hand resting atop his knuckles. When she snapped out of this, she was going to be a mess; his heart lurched.

"—I'm just saying. The others hang back. If we can knock her out, three against one, keep her sedated until we hit New York…" Sam was saying.

Bucky shook his head. "You can't."

"It's an option," Steve said, looking back at him. "Look, I know you trained her, but if her orders are to bring you in, she might hesitate in full on attacking you. That gives us an advantage."

"You can't take her. She has a transmitter in her head; it's a multi-purpose control mechanism. It's part of what makes the brainwashing so complete; it's plugged right into her. But if she leaves, if she doesn't report in…" He gnashed his teeth. "If I tried to free her… They activate the transmitter and it blows her head from her shoulders… So no, it's not an advantage, it's signing her death warrant."

Steve stared at him a long moment. "Okay," he said quietly. "We'll figure something else out."

"How long until Natasha can pick us up?" Sam wondered.

"An hour. We need to find cover, lay low, outrun her."

"Darcy. Her name is Darcy," Bucky corrected, his hands fisting.

"Sorry. _Darcy_," he emphasized.

Sam looked between them and then nodded. "Okay, we get to the market we passed on the way in, we blend with the crowd, find somewhere to hide."

Steve nodded. "It's the best plan we've got if we don't want any casualties."

Sam sped the car up, weaving in and out of other vehicles, having an easier time of it than the bulky SUV coming up behind them. The market was up ahead and he took an abrupt turn down a narrow alleyway, nearly reaching the end before stopping completely. They climbed out of the car, the doors scraping the walls on either side. Together, the three of them started forward, leaving the mouth of the alley and circling around, walking down the street toward the crowd all milling together.

Lights were strung above, vendors set up with boxes of colorful fruit and vegetables, shelves of fabrics, tables and hangers with clothing, bags, and jewelry. Voices were calling out, inviting them closer, boasting about their products. They stopped at one table to buy a few hats, overpaid, and then walked away, doing their best to hide their faces. Another vendor was various shirts; Sam grabbed up a bright red button up with short sleeves, the fabric thin to avoid the heat. He pulled it on over his undershirt and buttoned it up midway. Steve followed suit with a similarly styled green shirt, while Bucky was forced to dig around for something with long-sleeves.

A burst of noise coming from the far left told them she'd arrived; people were scattering, trying to get away from the woman wielding the axe.

Bucky, Steve and Sam calmly made their way deeper into the market, ignoring or waving off vendors as they moved with the crowd. Steve was careful not to separate from Bucky, keeping an eye on him at all times, while Sam wandered a little more, talking to vendors to keep up the ruse. Bucky kept his head down, pausing outside a table of jewelry and picking through it as if he had all the time in the world. But Steve could see the way his eyes had turned, seeking her out, scanning the crowds for her familiar face.

Steve stepped up near him, admiring the scarves in the vendor next to the one Bucky stood at, a few feet between them.

"What happens if she finds you? She drags you back to HYDRA, they wipe you, and it starts all over again…?" Steve wondered, his voice pitched low.

"Mostly."

Steve frowned, waiting for him to elaborate.

Bucky let out a faint sigh. "Sometimes they leave my memories of her… Easier to use her against me if they know I still love her."

"And other times?"

He paused for a moment, his mouth pursed, but eventually answered him. "In the beginning, when they were trying to figure out how much she influenced me, they wiped me and set me on her, testing me… She always pulled me back. So then they got smart. The freeze-program-and-wipe protocol was starting to lose its efficiency. Some of the doctors thought it would be smarter to keep me awake, convince me I was on their team. If I wasn't triggered, my memories might stay dormant. And even if they did come back, they had something to use against me… They had leverage to keep me from going rogue."

Steve grimaced. "Darcy."

Bucky ground his teeth and stretched his fingers along the chain of a gold necklace. "It's my fault… Why she's here, why she's like this… I never should have brought her into this."

Steve stared at Bucky's profile, his brow furrowed. "How'd it happen? How'd you meet?"

Gun fire could be heard then, along with screaming, and then Sam was beside them. "We need to move. Her handlers are out and they're getting impatient."

Steve nodded grimly and turned to walk up the street, quicker this time. Sam and Bucky followed at his back.

"Did you just steal that necklace?" Sam asked.

"That's the least of my sins," Bucky answered.

* * *

There was a house high up on a hill; the people who lived there looked like they'd packed up and left on vacation. Newspapers piled outside was the first sign. They let themselves in and did a sweep of the house, finding it empty, and then barricaded the front and back door just to be sure. Leaving the lights off and staying away from the windows, they collected in the living room. Steve texted Natasha, who traced the call to his exact coordinates and told him she would call when she was close and with a place for them to go to be picked up.

"Now we wait," Steve said, taking a seat on a couch and leaning back, sighing to himself.

Sam followed suit, grabbing up a stray magazine from the coffee table and fanning himself with it. The heat outside was dry, but inside, with no windows open, it was almost suffocating.

Bucky was still wound up, stressed, pacing across the floor, his eyes darting around.

Steve watched him for a long moment before sitting forward, arms braced on his knees. "You were going to tell me before… how you and Darcy met."

Bucky looked over at him, his brow furrowed.

"I'd like to know that too," Sam said, looking over at him, arm spread out over the back of the couch. "How's a guy we assumed spent most of his time in a cryogenic sleep end up with a wife?"

Bucky's cheek twitched, his hands balling into fists and squeezing. He stilled in his steps, his back tensed, and stared at the floor uncertainly.

"C'mon, we've got nothing but time to waste… It's better to know who's out there, right? You said she was triggered, she's not really like this…" Sam said leadingly.

"She's not," he answered hoarsely. "Darcy is… She'd never hurt anybody, not like this. To protect herself, people she loves, sure, but… she's not a killer. She's soft. Funny…" He smiled faintly. "She was in university, a political science student, said she was going to become a lawyer one day, 'put assholes in jail, get good people off from bogus charges…'" He reached up, dragging a hand down his mouth, scrubbing at the stubble on his chin. "It was seven years ago… I was on a job."

* * *

[**2008 – Lamy, New Mexico**]

_Foster, J. PhD. _

_Astrophysicist. _

_Culver University Alumni. _

_Einstein-Rosen Bridge._

He looked over the folders again and again, memorizing every detail of his target's life. His handlers had explained that Foster was making way in her research, that if she continued to do so it would cause problems for them, and they couldn't have that. He had one job. Put Foster down. He was given an address and driven out to Lamy, New Mexico, set up in a room to do recon of his own, and ordered to check in at the established times. He listened to orders; that was all he did. He was The Asset.

Foster was easy to track. Almost too easy. She was scatterbrained when it came to anything but her work. She frequently forgot to shower, eat regularly, or even sleep. Her intern took care of the rest; grocery shopping whenever necessary, bringing her boss coffee and Poptarts, occasionally convincing her to eat something more substantial. She made Foster sleep when she started passing out on her work, tucking her into a beat-up couch, a blanket thrown over her. The Intern was unexpected, but not anybody he thought he would have to worry about. Darcy Lewis. Political science student at Culver. 3.7 GPA. For the most part, she wore her iPod everywhere, headphones always tucked in her ears. Getting past her unnoticed wouldn't be difficult and, if necessary, he would put her down, too.

There was a third; Erik Selvig. But he'd left town early the morning after The Asset had arrived, called away on personal business. Selvig was still questionable. His handlers thought it might be pertinent to kill him, too. He was smart, collaborating on everything with Foster, meaning he may be able to recreate it without her. But The Asset hadn't been green lit for that job, so for now it was just Foster. And, if problematic, The Intern.

He tracked them for six days to get the layout of their schedule, using carefully placed bugs to listen in on their conversations. It would have to be a close job; the building they worked out of had poor line of sight from any angle he found. The only option was to get inside, take her out up close and personal, leave the way he came, and return to his room to call his handlers for pick-up. He considered doing it while Lewis was on a grocery run; she kept close to Foster for the most part.

They sat on the roof in lawn chairs one night, talking and drinking tea while Foster tried to update her intern on what the constellations were. From what he could tell, the two women were close friends. Foster, despite being older and more educated, let herself be mothered by Lewis. She could assert herself and demand to keep working, but in the end, it was Lewis fussing over her, making her eat and sleep and remember to get fresh air.

Friendship wasn't a foreign concept to The Asset, as he understood what it was. But, like with everything, he didn't understand the emotional attachment behind it. For him, there were no attachments, no emotions, there was only a job, a target, a mission.

Watching them interact, listening to their conversations, it felt different. It felt like he was missing something, some integral part to the puzzle. He knew it was there, just out of reach. It bothered him. Annoyed him when he heard Lewis needling her boss; "C'mon, Jane, you need sleep. Yeah, whine all you want, I'm not going to stop until you get at least six hours of solid rest." Her concern was real, even when she muttered under her breath that Foster was difficult. And Foster too, complaining that Lewis didn't have a head for science; "What I really need is an intern who knows what she's doing, so excuse me if I'm a little frustrated when you give me that… _face_. That 'what are you talking about?' face. Yes! That one!" It didn't matter how much the two women argued or picked at each other, at the end of the day, they cared about one another.

The Asset recognized that on some level, but each interaction emphasized that missing part of him, like a hollow, dark hole that he hated the existence of but couldn't figure out how to fill. So he shook his head and tried to focus on his job, on what he had to do, on examining his surroundings and memorizing their schedules. It didn't matter that they reminded him of something he couldn't quite remember. They would be gone soon enough.

The Asset didn't like the nights; the cold chilled him, made the muscles attached to his bionic arm ache. The cold triggered mental pathways he didn't understand; it made him uncomfortable, twitchy, claustrophobic sometimes. He preferred the days, where the heat was almost unbearable. Lewis liked the nights; she sat outside, knitting, drinking hot cocoa. She dragged Foster out to do the same, but Foster could only stand being away from her work for so long before she begged off and went back inside, leaving Lewis to stare up at the sky, bundled in a blanket and a knit beanie, cupping her hot chocolate in hands covered in bright red mittens she'd knit herself. It occurred to him that he could kill her, kill both of them, on nights like those, but he never reached for his gun, and he wasn't sure why.

On the seventh day, he made his move. The Intern had gone into town for groceries; she would be approximately forty minutes. He entered the building through a back door, the lock was faulty and it didn't take much to break completely. There was a dish of dry cat food on the ground that Lewis filled twice a day for a stray cat she'd taken under her wing but Foster had put her foot down on actually adopting. He was careful not to disturb the cat dish, choosing ignorance as to why.

The room the back door led to was dark, light from the next room faintly reaching inside; boxes and broken equipment were piled against the walls. He moved quietly, exiting the storage area and entering the main part of the building. There was a laundry room first, two baskets, one pink and one green, filled with various articles of women's clothing, towels, and a quilt that needed to be patched up. A load was going; water filled the washer, the rushing sound loud enough to cover his already silent footsteps as he moved across the linoleum. The next room was the kitchen; there was an empty box of Poptarts on the counter, beside a plate smudged with peanut butter and covered in toast crumbs. An open carton of cream sat beside a bowl of sugar next to the percolating coffee machine; he breathed the smell in deep and felt his mouth water. He blinked, briefly distracted by it, and shook it off, making his way out of the kitchen.

The main room, what should have been a living room, was filled with a cluster of machines, many of which were being held together with a Frankenstein-job of gears and duct tape. A table sat in the center of the room, dressed in star charts and paperwork, while a white board, covered in clusters of data, was rolled just to the right of a desk pressed against the far wall with a computer, more paperwork, and a filing cabinet, the top drawer left open. To the right, a hallway led to the bedrooms and a bathroom, but he didn't need to go there, instead making his way further into the living room made work shop.

Foster had her back to him, bent over a stack of printed out data, mumbling to herself, absently reaching for a plate, where a half-eaten Poptart sat. Her hand missed the plate at first, reaching around without direction, and just as she'd nearly grabbed it, she accidentally pushed it, shoving it off the side of the table.

The clatter of glass on the ground made him tense, his hand squeezing around the grip of his gun.

Groaning to herself, Foster bent to clean up the mess, picking up each piece of the plate and stacking it in her palm before picking up her Poptart, examining it, brushing it on her knee, and then considering if she should still eat it. She had it raised to her mouth and was just standing, turning to face him when he raised his gun.

Letting out a squeak, she dropped everything from her hands, raising them up in surprise. Eyes wide, she exclaimed, "If you're looking for money, I don't have any."

"She's not kidding; she's seriously broke. She doesn't even pay me."

The Asset's head swiveled abruptly, landing on The Intern, who was holding her keys in one slightly raised hand, the other gripped around her canvas bag. She must have forgotten something, he thought absently, watching as she moved slowly toward Foster.

"For the last time, you're an _intern_. You don't _get _paid," Foster reminded, rolling her eyes.

"Which I still think is ridiculous." Lewis finally reached her, but instead of standing at her side, she moved directly in front of Foster.

The Asset stared at her, tipping his gun to tell her to move.

Lewis readjusted her glasses. "I don't know why you're here. I could take a wild guess that it has something to do with the rainbow bridge—"

"Einstein-Rosen—" Foster tried to correct.

"_Is now the time?_" Lewis turned her head to whisper-shout in frustration.

"Sorry. Sorry."

Turning her attention back to The Asset, Lewis raised her chin. "Look, picking on twiggy astrophysicists who get winded if they move too much and regularly forget to eat isn't much of a fair fight, especially if you have a gun. So why don't you pick on somebody your own size?"

The Asset twitched; something niggling at his brain.

Foster let out an incredulous noise. "Darcy, don't push the assassin."

"Assassin, school yard bully, whatever." She glared up at him. "Big man with a gun… What, you couldn't take her in a fair fight?"

Another twitch; he frowned.

Lewis paused, her eyes darting away. "Not that Jane knows how to fight. I mean, I saw her wrestle a seven year old kid for the last box of strawberry Poptarts once, but that hardly counts. Especially since she _lost_. But all that does is prove you're pathetic for taking on such a lightweight."

He stared at her through narrowed eyes. This… woman, questioning him, purposely goading him; this wasn't how people were supposed to react to him. Frightfully hiding, sure. Begging for their life, absolutely. But putting themselves between him and a target? That was rare. Especially when they were untrained, incapable of doing him any damage.

He took a step forward and watched as she flinched, but instead of offering her boss up for death and asking that he spare her, she only seemed to get taller, raising her head up and spreading her arm out as if to somehow cover Foster further.

"I won't let you hurt her," Lewis told him, her expression determined.

He continued walking, until they were only a foot apart. "Move," he ordered.

She glared up at him, even as he could see her body trembling. "_No_. You want a fight, I'll give you a fight. But if you think I'll let you touch her, you're dead wrong."

The Asset tipped his head. There was something still scratching at the back of his mind; some synapse firing, a broken thread of thought or memory that was trying, and failing, to connect to its related end. He should kill her. Reach out, snap her neck, put a bullet between Foster's eyes, pack up and leave.

Instead, he hesitated.

And she took her chance.

Her leg came up abruptly, quicker than he expected, aimed between his. He caught it before she could do damage, but that didn't matter. Her hand pulled a charged taser from her bag; she aimed it at his face and fired. He didn't catch that. The jolt of electricity hit him hard and he started violently shaking, releasing her leg before he hit the ground. She kept her finger on the trigger so the electricity just kept coming and reached behind her, shoving at Foster's arm, telling her, "_Go, go, go!_"

They ran, with Lewis finally letting up on the taser as she and Foster fled the building.

It took him a few seconds to get his breath back, reaching up with shaking fingers to pull his mask from his mouth to suck in air desperately. He stretched his head back, his muscles twitching as his heels pressed down hard against the ground. He could hear the truck starting up outside and knew they were leaving, that he didn't have much time to get up and give pursuit. There was no guarantee where they were going or if they would come back. It would be like painting a target on their foreheads to walk back into this building when they knew he was out for them. But Foster's life's work was here, and if there was only one thing she would risk her life for, it was that.

That was what he told himself anyway as he managed to turn over onto his stomach, get his knees up under him and, shakily, get to his feet, grabbing at the table to get upright.

Panting, still shaking, he pulled the tines from his forehead and stared down at them in his hand, pushing his goggles up and out of the way. Faced with an assassin, with sure death, The Intern put herself between him and her friend, offered to fight him personally, and tasered him to get her and Foster free. He wasn't sure what the feeling welling up inside him was; rage for being beaten by an untrained, unassuming university student, or admiration for her rare show of courage.

Maybe both.

Regardless, he still had a job to do, and handlers to report back to.

Tossing the tines to the ground, he left the building on unsteady legs, promising himself that next time, he wouldn't underestimate her.

And neither would he hesitate.

* * *

**Author's Note:**_ So, as you can see, I changed the time frame of when Thor happened, since it originally aired in 2010 and I pushed it back two years. I have a reason for this. The flashbacks are also set pre-Thor, so neither Darcy nor Jane have met Thor yet, which gets discussed in the next chapter since, as you can see, they're in Lamy, New Mexico and not Puente Antiguo. _

_Also, just in case I didn't explain it well enough, the twitches Bucky's experiencing and the reason he was having trouble killing Darcy is because she reminds him of Steve standing up to bullies and taking on more than they can chew. He doesn't know why it's happening, he doesn't remember Steve, but those feelings are still there and it's causing him some problems in terms of doing his job. _

_I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you so much for reading! Please, leave a review; they're my lifeblood!_

**- Lee | Fina**


	3. Lewis and The Asset

**title**: every time I'm slipping away from myself (you're the one that moves me like nobody else)  
**category**: mcu; thor/captain america/avengers  
**genre**: romance/drama/humor  
**ship**: darcy/bucky  
**chapter rating**: pg-13  
**overall rating**: nc-17/explicit  
**word count**: 5,496  
**summary**: Steve just wanted his best friend back. But now that he's found him, there's a complication. Bucky agrees to come home under one condition; his wife comes too.

**_every time I'm slipping away from myself (you're the one that moves me like nobody else)_**  
-novel-

**III**.

[**Present – 2015 - Portugal**]

Sam was grinning. "I'm sorry… The first time you met your wife, she _tasered _you…" He held his hands up. "I take back my first opinion; I think I like this girl."

Steve snorted faintly, but was watching Bucky, who looked a little less stressed. He frowned, however, as the name sparked a memory. "Jane Foster... I think I read something about her. The Einstein-Rosen Bridge; that's what brought Thor here the first time…" He shook his head, trying to remember the files he'd read on each of his teammates three years earlier. "But it wasn't in Lamy; it was in Puente Antiguo. There was no mention of an assassination attempt, not on record anyway."

"SHIELD never met Darcy," Bucky said.

"Well, don't leave us in suspense," Sam encouraged, staring up at him. "How'd it go from tasering you to marrying you?"

Bucky looked back at him and then to Steve, who shrugged. "I'm curious, too."

Sighing, Bucky finally took a seat in the arm chair, licking his lips as he stared down at the coffee table.

* * *

[**2007 – Lamy, New Mexico**]

The handlers weren't happy, but he assured them he had a lead on where they were going. It wasn't a lie; not exactly. Foster wouldn't abandon all of her work; she wasn't the type. During the time he'd observed her, her work was her life. It occurred to him that he could take her findings and leave, but he had been ordered to kill her and burn the information. For now, it would remain intact, if only to lure her back.

It took three days before the truck reappeared; it was early, just after seven in the morning, when he heard the rumbling noise of the pick-up. Sleeping for him was more like dozing; the simplest of sounds could wake him. Turning up the listening devices, he started gathering his supplies and suiting up.

"Do you have any idea how ridiculous this is?" Lewis was yelling as they entered the building. "There was an _assassin_, Jane! A freaking _assassin_. Logic says that you do not go back to the place that the assassin knows you live and work, because said assassin still wants to kill you. _Especially _since your very dedicated, very beloved intern, tasered him in the _face!" _

"I can't just leave it here, Darcy," Foster replied, exasperated. "Do you have any idea how long I've been working on this? Everything my career has been leading to, everything I worked for, is in this room. Now help me get it into the truck, okay? Like you said, there's an assassin looking for me and he could show up any second."

"Uh, _yeah_, which is why I have my taser charged! Remind me again why we don't have some kind of FBI shadow helping us with this?"

"Because. The cops still haven't forgiven us for that time Erik got drunk and streaked through that parade. They didn't believe me when I talked to them… And also because the last people I want poking around my work is the government; they'll confiscate everything."

"Jane, _listen to yourself_. All of this is just paper. The real stuff is in your head. It doesn't matter if they confiscate it, because at least you'll be alive. To, you know, _recreate _it!"

Foster sighed. "It's not the same. I can't remember everything; that's why it's written down, so I can look back at what I've already done. You need data to prove things. Everything I've done already would have to be redone, in the same circumstances, with the same results, or it's moot. I'd have to start over from scratch. Now will you please stop arguing with me and help me get this loaded?"

"Fine. But if the assassin comes back and I get hardcore murdered, I hope you remember me and my sacrifice gets some serious coverage."

"Oh my God, Darcy…" Foster muttered.

The Asset left his room and made his way down to the building; sneaking in through the back like he had before. To make a point, more to himself than anything else, he upturned the cat dish with his foot.

He found them in the living room, loading plastic milk crates with paperwork and folders, emptying out the filing cabinet and compiling everything on the table and desk. The whiteboard was wiped clean and Foster was in the process of unplugging cords from various machines.

"What the hell do you think we're going to do with those, huh? We're just going to wheel all of these into the truck? They weigh a ton."

"I'm not leaving them. I can't build new ones. I don't have the resources to. And I've already got a new site set up for us in Puente Antiguo. We just need to get there." She sighed, wiping her hands off on her jeans. "You know, this could be a good thing. Data readings out here weren't very good. I've been thinking about moving camp for a while."

"To Puente Antiguo? Lemme ask you something, is it any less 'hot as balls' than it is here?" Lewis wondered.

"Well… _no_. But I'm sure the data will help us."

"Not getting killed will help me. Six credits for this insane internship will help me. Not scraping your face off the floor would _really _help me." Apparently fed up, Lewis dropped a crate to the floor. "No, you know what, we're going to talk about this… Three days ago, some leathered up crazy dude with a gun came in here to _kill_ you. Do you understand that? Because you keep talking about work and saving your data, but I walked in here and I thought you were three seconds away from being _dead_, okay? And I know I was the only person to sign up for this internship and you mostly just put up with me because I make good coffee, but damn it, Jane, I consider you a friend. A really good friend, and I don't want you to die, especially not for freaking _science_!"

Foster went still, staring at the floor a long moment, and then she let out a shuddering breath, rubbing a hand over her forehead. "I know… I know you were scared. I… I was too. Not just for me, but you too. Darcy, you stepped in front of that gun for me. You risked your _life_ and I have never been more scared than when I thought he was going to kill you. Not because he'd kill me next but because you were right there and you were ready to die for me and— And I'm _sorry_. I'm so sorry if I made you feel like you didn't matter here. You _do! _I mean, you're not very good at science and you have very limited knowledge of astrophysics, but that doesn't make you pointless. You're important. You're my friend and I need you here, alive and okay. So just… don't step in front of any more bullets for me, okay?"

"Don't get any more aimed at you and I won't have to."

"Darcy, I'm serious… If he comes back, you need to go. Call for help, hide, I don't know, just… don't sacrifice yourself for me."

Lewis scoffed. "Are you kidding? I had that guy on the ropes."

The Asset twitched, blinking rapidly, his hand flexing on the gun.

He stepped out from the kitchen then, angry at the way he was reacting, at how his mind was struggling against him, at how she kept triggering something he had no control over and he had no idea _why_.

"Oh, shit."

Foster whirled around, her eyes wide as she spotted him.

"Damn it, I _told _you so," Lewis exclaimed, stomping her foot. She reached for her bag, but the gun turned in her direction and she paused, letting out a squeak. "Okay, so, about how I tasered you in the face… _Whoops?_"

He stared at her, his teeth gritted.

_Pull the trigger. Just squeeze it. Put her down. Take out Foster. Return to room. Report to handlers. Get picked up. _

So easy, it would be _so_ easy. Two bullets and he'd be finished. But instead, he stared at her, standing there, her hand still outstretched for her taser, waiting for an opportunity.

He tipped his head and said, "Leave and I won't kill you."

Maybe it was a test, maybe it was an opportunity that he was offering her; he didn't know.

But she raised her chin up and shook her head. "I told you before… I won't let you hurt her."

"_Darcy_," Foster stressed.

"No," she answered sternly, lowering her hands and taking a step toward him. "You want her, you go through me."

His lip curled and he squeezed the grip of his gun until it strained under his hand. Cursing at her in rapid, angry Russian, he took two long steps toward her, gun pointed at the center of her forehead. Lewis closed her eyes, cringing, but she didn't backpedal, offering up her boss. Instead, she took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and stared at him, brow furrowed and breathing rapid.

The Asset ground his teeth together behind his mouth guard, his eyes darting over her face, searching for regret, weakness, but she refused to give him that. There was fear; her fingers were trembling and her eyes were bloodshot with a sheen of tears, but she wouldn't bow her head or walk away or give him any measure of surrender.

It made him twitch, some broken link in his head sparking but not quite lighting up entirely. It was enough, however. He dropped his gun, letting it hang uselessly at his side, and let out a frustrated growl, reaching up to grip and pull at his hair as he turned on his heel and stalked away, muttering to himself, stressed and confused. Why did this keep happening? Why couldn't he just pull the goddamn trigger?

Lewis let out a breath, quick and relieved, and then she moved, crossing the room to Foster, grabbing her arm.

"I don't— I don't get it," Foster whispered to her, looking between him and her intern.

"What's there to get?" Lewis snapped. "He's not shooting. This is where you run."

"But why?"

"Damn it, Jane, this isn't the time for a survey!" She shoved Foster toward the hallway leading to the door, looking back at him over her shoulder, her brow furrowed.

He watched her for a moment and then, for reasons he didn't understand, he said, "They'll keep coming… They'll send someone else if they have to." _Or me_, he thought, _wiped clean again_.

Lewis stopped, pushing Foster out the door leading to the truck. She turned on her heel and walked back to him. Her hands were fisted as she rocked on her heels, keeping distance between them, suspicious and still scared, but stubborn. "Who? Who sent you? Who ordered this… this _hit?_" She stared at him searchingly and, when he didn't answer right away, snapped, "Come on, don't clam up on me now."

He stayed silent another beat, but staring at her impatient, nervous face, finally said, "HYDRA."

"HYDRA," she repeated, nodding. And then paused. "Wait. _HYDRA?_ Like, the 1940's, World War 2, taken down by Captain America, _that _HYDRA? It was destroyed…"

He stared at her.

"Okay, _not_ destroyed." She licked her lips, putting to her forehead, and started pacing. "Not destroyed, still working their evil magic behind closed doors, gunning down anybody that stands in the way of what they call progress… But that's— I mean… why Jane?"

"They think she's close to making a discovery. I was ordered to put her down before she could."

Lewis lit up then. "Wait, you mean… she's on the right track?" She bounced a little, looking excited. "Oh man, this is awesome. I always kind of thought she was a crackpot. Love her, but still… _crackpot_."

He watched her, moving to and fro, grinning widely. His brow furrowed. "She's going to be a _dead… _crackpot." The word sounded odd, foreign on his tongue. Then again, most words did. He didn't do a whole lot of talking; he had no reason to. "HYDRA won't let her walk away from this. They might remove me for a while, but they'll just send me back in to finish the job later."

Lewis crossed her arms, letting out an incredulous scoff. "What, so you get a good scolding and suddenly you can actually pull the trigger?"

"I have to call my handlers," he said absently, his brow furrowed. "Report in that I failed." He grimaced, his hand squeezing tightly around the gun. His muscles tensed, spasmed, in anticipation of the pain that was coming.

She stared at him, taking another step forward, twisting at the hips as she eyed him speculatively. "So… What happens when the assassin fails anyway? Lines? No dessert?"

His jaw ticked. "Erase and start over."

A beat passed before, "Erase? Like… mentally?" She didn't wait for him to answer. "What's your name?"

He paused. "The Asset."

"That's not a name. Unless you're a pop star, and, _obviously_, you chose a different career path." Her eyes narrowed, gaze scrutinizing every inch of him. "So they wipe you clean, huh? That's some serious spy movie shit…" She walked even closer, too curious for her own good.

He watched her, tensed, but his hand never rose, his finger wouldn't touch the trigger. It was a strange feeling, letting her move at her own pace, slowly eating up the space between them, until she was just as close as she had been when she'd tasered him. Her head back, she peered up at him, and her hands hesitantly raised, fingers curling around the edge of his facial mask.

"Like a dog," she murmured. "With a choke chain."

He grabbed one of her wrists, bionic fingers wrapped around it, and stared down at her through his goggles. "I could kill you," he said, his voice thick with tension. "Right now. Put a bullet between those pretty blue eyes."

She hummed in acknowledgement. "But you won't." She pulled the metal free and lowered it, staring at his mouth. "There. See? Now you can breathe a little better." Her eyes raised to the goggles, her fingers stretched toward them.

He squeezed her wrist to stop her, but released it long enough to remove the goggles himself, lowering them to his side, staring at her searchingly, his own expression wary. She didn't look scared, but what was he expecting? That she would see his face, see his sins written in his skin, and suddenly lose the backbone that had been getting her through these last two encounters?

"Well, the movies got one thing right; assassins are hot."

His lips pursed. "I'm still holding a gun."

Her mouth turned up at the corners. "Adds to the appeal."

His eyebrow raised slowly and he wondered if he should re-evaluate her and the situation they found themselves in. She was… odd. Unexpected. Even confusing.

"So?" She looked down at the metal muzzle still held in her fingers. "Do you always wear this or only when you're sniping people? Like, do you sleep with it on? It's gotta be uncomfortable. Not much give." She raised it up then and placed it over her own mouth before making a raspy noise. "_Luke… I am your father_…"

He blinked at her, staring at the mask, and frowned. He didn't like it; didn't like how it looked on her. It was wrong. He reached for it, but she slapped his hand, causing him to stare at her incredulously.

"Hey, you get to wear it all the time, this might be the only time I get to play assassin… Unless I get to go to comic con this year, in which case I'll totally be stealing your look." She winked before turning on her heel and walking a few feet away.

"It hides my identity," he told her.

"And what _is _your identity?" She looked over her shoulder at him, muzzle still over her mouth. She had full lips; he regretted not being able to see them.

"The Asset," he repeated, standing a little taller, his chin raised. It was less about pride and more about putting up a defense. All he knew, all he could ever remember being was The Asset.

"So you mentioned…" She held the mask up with one hand perched under her chin. "So, if you don't have a name and they wipe you clean every time, does that mean that The Asset _used _to have a life…? I mean, if you have to hide your identity, that means someone'll be able to identify you… Right?"

His brow furrowed, gaze dropping to the floor.

"Food for thought," she said, moving to the table a few feet behind her and dropping the muzzle down on top of it before she started gathering papers again, piling them into the milk crates. "So, if you're not going to snipe us, how does helping us pack up and move some seriously heavy equipment sound?" she wondered.

He stared at her back, at her fingers, nails painted a bright, almost obnoxious, shade of orange, drumming over the tabletop, and shook his head. "You're very reckless, aren't you?"

She grinned at him over her shoulder. "What gave me away?"

He pressed his lips into a firm line before taking a step toward her, hesitant before raising his chin and crossing the space between them. "Why'd you risk yourself for her?" he wondered. "You offered to fight me for her. You're untrained, you have little upper body strength, you have _no_ fighting experience at all, your diet is terrible, and you never exert any real physical energy…"

"Wow, thanks, just keep piling the compliments on me," she muttered.

He shook his head. "The first time you had your taser, and I'll admit, you were clever. Sloppy, but brave. The second time… If I didn't change my mind, you would have _died_."

Her gaze dropped for a moment, hands going still on the papers before she turned around to face him properly. "She's my friend. My _best _friend, actually. I mean we fight and we nag and she's kind of like that older sister who keeps telling me to apply myself, but… I don't know. I love her. And friends stick up for each other, even if it means putting yourself between them and a bullet."

He turned his eyes away thoughtfully.

"Have you ever had that?" she wondered, and then frowned. "Stupid question, I guess. You wouldn't remember, right?"

He looked back at her, hesitated for a moment, but then admitted, "They ask me sometimes, if I remember anything…"

"What happens if you say yes?"

"Pain. A lot of it. And the cold." His gaze grew distant, mouth set in a grimace. "I don't always remember it in my head. But my body… my bones, they remember."

She was quiet for a long moment, just staring at him. "Who do you think were, before all of that?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, like you said, you hesitated… You didn't want to kill us."

"_You_. I didn't want to kill you." He frowned. "You trigger me. It's like I'm trying to remember but I know I shouldn't."

"'Shouldn't' doesn't mean you don't want to. Just means they've gotten really good at beating you down… You said your body remembers; so your mind tells you not to ask questions, you learn to shut up, because you don't want to get kicked. That doesn't make it right." She tugged at her fingers and stared up at him. "What if I could find out who you were? Like, before."

"How?"

"I'm pretty good with computers, and I have a few connections I could reach out to if I can't do it on my own. I could probably track you down if I had a picture. I mean, you don't just disappear off the face of the planet. You had to have a life before this, right? Friends, family, people who loved you…"

He winced, looking away quickly.

"There could be a life after this, you know. Ex-assassin goes straight, gets his memory back. Makes a pretty good headline, don't you think?" she encouraged.

He didn't answer right away, his eyes darting over the floor. "What happens… after?"

She shrugged. "Whatever you want to. I mean, I don't have a whole lot of experience with assassins or memory loss, but… The world's your oyster and all that."

He raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Sure, there'll probably be a lot of red tape if you go public, but I bet you have a good idea of how to stay under the radar, right? So you could travel, set down roots somewhere, blend in, become Jo Average, if you want… It's kind of up to you what you want to do with your life." She grinned then, laughing under her breath.

Confused by the sudden burst of mirth, he asked, "What?"

"It's just… I never thought I'd be giving life advice to an assassin." She looked up at him, sobering. "Not that your situation is funny, 'cause it's not, but… when I signed up to play intern to an astrophysicist, I never thought it'd be this exciting. Near-death experiences, assassins with tragic back stories, it's a real trip."

He grunted, taking a step back from her. "If I let you take that picture, could you really find out who I was?" He stared at her, searching for any sign that she was lying.

"Hey, you promise not to snipe me or Jane and I'll make you a freaking scrapbook." She walked toward her bag then and pulled out her phone. "Just stay still. And, I know it's going to be hard, but try not to smile."

He tamped down the urge to roll his eyes and waited for her to raise her phone.

She paused though, walking back to him, and reached up, brushing his hair back from his eyes, tucking it behind his ears. His gaze followed her fingers curiously.

"There," she said. "A little less hobo killer and a little more hobo chic."

He arched an eyebrow at her, but she only grinned, leaning back and raising her phone up to snap a picture. "Two just to be sure," she said, taking another. And then she hopped over, her chin on his shoulder and her mouth spread in an overenthusiastic grin, and snapped a third. "That one's just to capture the crazy plot twist that is my current life. Don't worry, I won't Facebook it or anything; that might blow our little 'escape HYDRA's clutches' plan."

He watched her as she stepped back, lighthearted and entirely too relaxed about the situation.

"Okay, so I'll do a facial recognition kind of thing, give it my best college try, track down who you were, and you just… don't call it in to HYDRA or whatever."

He shook his head. "I _have_ to report in."

She shrugged. "Well, just lie then. It's like you said, if you call and tell them that you didn't kill us, they're going to come for you, or send a replacement. Who, I'm guessing, isn't going to hesitate because of my praise-worthy heroics. So call in, tell them, I don't know, that you're getting close or something. Making progress…? Obviously I'm not up on assassin lingo, all right? Just find a way to keep them from interfering while I figure out who you were."

"Why are you helping me?" he wondered, lips turned down. "I tried to kill you, your friend. I still could."

"I like underdogs," she said dismissively. At his unconvinced expression, she added, "Look, I'm not happy about the assassination attempts. Seriously, I think you scared a good decade off my life here on out. But… you hesitated. And you don't know who you are. And HYDRA, who, lemme tell you, does not have a good history, is basically using you to their advantage. Personally, I plan on becoming a lawyer, the kind that puts assholes in jail and gets good people off from bogus charges… So, the way I see it is, HYDRA is the asshole and you're probably a good dude who just got caught up in their nefarious shit… Good word, nefarious."

"What if I'm not?"

Her brow wrinkled. "Not what?"

He grimaced. "A good person."

"Well then maybe this can be a wake-up call, right? Start fresh, be the person you want to be, whoever that is. Hopefully it's not evil. Fingers crossed on not evil." She raised said crossed fingers and grinned up at him. When he continued to look conflicted, she sighed, reaching over to pop his shoulder with a fist. It was probably the least aggressive time anybody had ever taken a swing at him; he wasn't sure what to make of that. "I don't know what's behind the unmarked door. Maybe it's good things, maybe it isn't, but… do you want to keep doing what you're doing?"

He frowned, his brow furrowed. Nobody had ever asked him that before. He was The Asset. He followed orders. There were no other options. But did he want to keep doing this? The thought of going back, of the pain and the cold, made him shake his head. He didn't want it. He didn't want to be their dog, their puppet, dancing on the broken strings of his fucked up mind.

"Okay. So I'll work my mojo, you do some expert lying, and we'll get you out of here. In the meantime… Maybe you could also give a girl an idea of how to keep Jane from getting knocked off…? Pretty please?"

"As long as I'm in rotation, they won't send anybody else. But if I leave or I get brought back in, they'll either send someone new or they'll wipe me and send me back. I can't guarantee I'll hesitate then."

"So maybe packing up and running is still an option then?" she mused.

"Not a long-term one. As long as she's still working on the Einstein-Rosen Bridge, HYDRA will have her in their sights."

"Unless she opens it…" Darcy said thoughtfully, tapping her chin. "If she opens it, there's no point in taking her out, she's already made it happen, right?"

"Is she close to that?" he wondered.

Darcy frowned. "No. But she thinks our next site might be better…" Sighing, she shrugged. "Unless I pack Jane up and physically kidnap her, she's not going to stop working on this. I guess that settles it then."

He stared at her, waiting for her to explain.

"I'll just have to keep an eye out, try to convince the cops in the next town that we really do have a hit out on us, or maybe put in an anonymous tip to the FBI…" She frowned. "Jane would kill me, and they totally _would _take all of her work…" She turned then, facing him, her expression dramatically innocent. "Hey, maybe while I'm trying to put together your thus unknown biography, you could teach an intern how to shoot a gun."

His lips pursed as he looked her over. "You want to shoot a gun?"

"I want to be able to defend myself if the next assassin isn't so… _friendly_."

He let out a faint snort.

"C'mon, I got the chops for it… Probably. I mean, I know which way it points and I'm willing to do what I have to if it comes to keeping Jane alive. What more could you ask for in a student?"

He sighed, licking his lips as he turned his eyes away thoughtfully. After a moment, he looked back at her, mouth pressed into a line. "You know it would be smarter, if she isn't going to put her life ahead of her work, for you to leave her behind."

"I know you're missing some serious human experience, okay, so I'm not going to hold that against you, but lesson number one in being a good person…" She shook her head. "You don't leave your friends behind. Unless they're abusive assholes or something, then kick them to the curb. But the _good_ ones, the ones that make you better… You step in front of that bullet if you have to."

He took a moment to let her words sink in and then, slowly, as if to echo something just out of reach, he said, "'Til the end of the line."

"Yeah," she said, grinning. "Exactly."

He swallowed tightly, a strange heaviness in his chest. Nodding jerkily, he took a step back.

"I should probably go stop Jane before she drags the cops to our door, somehow convince her you're not going to make a third attempt on our lives… Uh, you're not, right?"

He shook his head absently.

"Good. Okay, well, I'll look into it tonight, see what I can find. Think you could drop in tomorrow?"

He nodded, lifting his chin, making his face carefully blank.

"All right." Her eyes searched his face for a moment. "You good? You look a little… nauseous."

"Yeah," he rasped. He backed up, giving his head a shake. "Tomorrow." He turned to leave, never pausing, hurrying out the way he came, making his way through the building until he was outside, in the alleyway, bent over, sucking in air, his eyes closed tightly. What was he doing? He should have killed her, both of them. This wasn't him. It wasn't who he was. He was The Asset. How many times had he thought that like it was some kind of balm for all the missing pieces in his head? The only identity he had, held tight between metal fingers.

But as he stood there, something stirred deep in his chest. Some faint spark of hope. That maybe there was something else he could do. Someone else he could be. That he wouldn't have to go back to the chair, to the cold. That he would never have to put the mask on again. He didn't know who he was, but maybe he was someone. Maybe there was someone out there looking for him. Someone who missed him. He was going to find out.

As he took a step forward, a crunching noise caught his attention; he dropped his gaze to see the dry cat food dish tipped over. Kneeling down, he scooped up what he could with his hand; most of it was clean, piled on top of each other. He put it back in the dish and stood, wiping his hand on his pants before he walked away.

He would come back tomorrow, and find out who he really was.

* * *

[**Present – 2015 - Portugal**]

Steve stared at him a long searching moment, his fingers gripped tight around the arm of the couch. "Darcy, always putting herself between you and Foster… it reminded you of me."

Bucky jerked his head in a nod. "It wasn't until later, after she looked into me, found out who I was, that it made sense… There was footage of us in the war; stock photos, history books. She said she hit the jackpot; I was just famous enough for her to find without too much work."

"Bet she wasn't expecting to find an MIA soldier from the 40's," Sam mused, letting out a long whistle.

"It was a surprise for both of us…" His smile was brittle. "She was hoping she'd find a family, people who missed me, but after all that time passed… There was no one. Some of the Commandos were still alive, but… They were older, retired, what were they gonna do with me?"

Steve let out a heavy breath. "I thought the same thing, when I… woke up. SHIELD, they told me I had a purpose, that I could help, and it wasn't long later that I was suiting up, joining The Avengers. But it still felt different. I thought I was ending a war, and I guess I did, but… I walked into another one, into a future where I had nobody I wanted there with me."

Bucky stared at him. "I was lucky, I guess… Not before, not with HYDRA. But with Darcy… She helped. She made it easier to accept." He shook his head. "I didn't remember much, she tried to fill in a lot of the gaps. I don't know what I would've done, figuring that out, nobody around to help me." He swallowed tightly then and scrubbed a hand over his mouth. "She got me through the worst part of my life, and I'm the reason hers turned out the way it did."

Sam shook his head. "She's alive, Foster too, so you must've done something to keep them that way… But you still ended up back with HYDRA, so… What happened? How'd they get both of you?"

Bucky let out a long, heavy breath, and said, "I went rogue."

[**Next**: Chapter Four.]

* * *

**author's note**: _I really appreciate everybody who's reviewing, but I do notice the volume of reviews has been going down. And I can't tell if there's a loss of interest in the story or if it's just because it's FFnet. I do notice there are a lot fewer readers for crossover or darcy fic on this site, which is why I wasn't posting it here for a while. So please let me know if you're still reading..._


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